


Shawarma

by Burgie



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU where Clint's family doesn't exist, F/M, angsty fluff, but I just want him and Tasha to be happy, that sounds bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 17:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14959319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burgie/pseuds/Burgie
Summary: After the Battle of New York, Clint tries to deal with what happened.





	Shawarma

**Author's Note:**

> I've watched this movie so many times but there's a chance that I forgot something so just let me know (nicely) if I did so I can fix it.

The Shawarma Palace was quiet after the battle of New York (a battle later to be capitalised by the media). Sure, it was dusty and the staff spent most of the time sweeping up broken glass and dust when they weren’t busy gawking at the famous (and, in one case, other-wordly) patrons, but this was… nice.

For the first time since the helicarrier, since he’d been himself again, Clint felt like he could relax. Tony had told him to clench up during the fight, yeah, well, he wasn’t sure whether or not he knew how to unclench anymore. Whether is was even possible. While Clint poked at his meal (how had Tony not had one yet, seriously, man?), Clint felt a gentle hand touch his thigh just above his knee. He turned his head slightly, finding himself suddenly pierced by eyes that had always been able to see right through him. It was Natasha’s gift. Just as Clint’s instinct (as well as his impeccable aim) was his gift. Well, it had been his gift. Maybe it wasn’t so much anymore. Not after what had happened. Natasha squeezed his thigh, as though sensing his thoughts. Maybe she was having similar thoughts, after that trickster bastard had brought up her past. Or maybe not. Maybe she was strong enough to not care about that. Stronger than him, at any rate. But at least he wasn’t the only one deep in thought. And, he supposed, everyone else had their own reasons for remaining quiet. Apart from the obvious fact of not wanting to talk about SHIELD stuff in front of innocent citizens.

Tony had almost died. Hell, he had been dead. If Hulk hadn’t scared him back to life, who knew what would’ve happened? Another thing for them to avenge. Him and Coulson… but no. Clint couldn’t think about him right now, couldn’t think about how it was his fault that Coulson was dead, his fault that Loki had even been on that ship. There was the quiet scrape of Natasha moving her chair closer to his, and the scent of blood and dust grew stronger. Sure, it wasn’t a great smell, but it certainly wasn’t the worst she’d ever smelled. And Clint didn’t exactly smell like a bed of roses himself, none of them did. Hell, even the place they were in stank of smoke and dust, undercut by the scents of garlic and onion and tomato and cooked meat.

None of them had wanted to be in that battle. But, as the Avengers, that was their job. Not that Thor was an Avenger, although he probably was now. An honorary one, if nothing else. It was days like these that made Clint want to retire and just be a farmer. But someone had to save the world, and they’d managed to do that today.

They didn’t talk much at all at the Shawarma Palace. That was understandable. Sure, they probably all needed therapy after what had just happened, but they could get in line. Innocent civilians had been hurt today, killed, even. Such was the cost of defending the planet, he supposed.

Stark Tower had been pretty much destroyed during the battle. There was a huge Loki-shaped dent in the ground, for one thing. Some windows were missing, the exterior had taken some damage, especially those ego-boosting letters that Tony had so carefully designed and added to his tower. But there were enough rooms for weary soldiers to rest their tired bodies after the long day. They all just wanted to go home, especially Thor, but Stark Tower was closer and they could all do with some rest. The bar would definitely need restocking after the team all drank to the fallen and to forget. Steve couldn’t get drunk due to the serum that had given him his Adonis body, but he tried.

While everyone else sat and either talked quietly or just silently drank their sorrows away, Clint found a roost in the form of a ledge outside the tower. He sat with his legs dangling off the edge and a bottle of whiskey beside him. It’d probably be empty by the end of the night, if not at the top of the hour. Clint picked up the bottle and emptied half of it in a few long swallows. Fuck. All of this was his fault, _all_ of it. If Loki hadn’t brainwashed him, he’d never have gotten his best marksman. If he’d spoken up sooner about his observation about the Tesseract, maybe Loki wouldn’t have had a chance to come through. It was too easy to swallow tears with alcohol. But, even deep in his own self-pity, Clint’s keen instincts still managed to pick up the Widow’s approach. He kept hold of his whiskey bottle, staring out over the cityscape still hazy from the smoke of battle.

“Room for one more?” said Natasha, her smooth voice hiding any hidden pain. She was good at hiding her pain. He’d noticed that about her when they’d first met, when he’d spoken to her in the hotel room that she’d locked them into. He’d been sent to kill her. Heh, well, it hadn’t been one of his arrows that had struck that day. 

“Be my guest,” said Clint, waving an arm out to encompass the space on his right. Natasha sat easily, snatching the bottle from him. Clint frowned at the loss of it, wondering suddenly if he should have taken two bottles with him. Oh well.

“How are you holding up?” asked Natasha. Clint was surprised at her smooth, gentle voice every time. It had been what had awoken him from his sleep after he’d come back to himself.

“Bout as well as can be expected,” said Clint, carefully not looking at her. If he looked at her, he’d fold, or he didn’t know what he’d do. Maybe he might tell her everything. Maybe he might make a move. Natasha took his hand in hers, bringing him back to the ledge. She was his anchor in all of this craziness. Hell, her bringing him back to himself had made him fall in love with her all over again. Not that he’d needed reminding of his love for her.

“Thor’s taking Loki back to his own dimension tomorrow,” said Natasha. “Where he’ll be tried and jailed for his crimes. I don’t know if he’ll be executed but that’s up to his own government to decide. I’m sure he won’t be coming back here in a hurry, though.”

“We have a Hulk,” said Clint, nodding. “Yeah, I heard Tony. Hope that’s enough to keep him away.”

“He’d have to be truly idiotic or suicidal to come back after that,” said Natasha. Clint said nothing. “Hey.” Natasha tugged on Clint’s hand, trying to get his attention. When she almost tugged him off the ledge, Clint sighed and finally looked at her. Into her steady brown eyes. “He’s not coming back. You’re safe from him now.”

“I’ll kill him if he tries,” said Clint. “Next time.”

“I know,” said Natasha. “You would’ve shot him right between the eyes if we’d let you.”

“Wish I could’ve,” said Clint, taking another swig of his drink after stealing it back from Natasha. He handed it back and Natasha took a swallow but then made a face and handed it back.

“Keep it,” said Natasha. “I’m going to see if Stark has any vodka. I’m sure I saw some last time I was here.”

“Last time?” said Clint, giving her a cheeky grin. “Something you’re not telling me?” Natasha smirked and rolled her eyes.

“He didn’t win me, but not for lack of trying,” said Natasha. “My eye’s on someone else.”

“So’s mine,” said Clint, admiring her form as she walked away. He must be drunk if he was already eyeing her up like a piece of meat. If any other guy did that, she’d turn around and plant her boot in their chest or groin. Not him. He had immunity, so long as he wasn’t supposed to be doing something else.

After the day they’d just had, nobody wanted to cook. Clint wasn’t sure if any of them could cook, anyway, he’d heard horror stories of Tony’s cooking.

“Let’s order take-out,” said Tony that night. “Anyone opposed? I’m thinking Chinese, maybe Thai.”

“We just had take-out,” said Steve.

“But we’ve earned it,” said Tony. “Maybe a big cheeseburger, they’re good ‘I almost died but didn’t, yay’ food.”

“I saw that press release,” said Clint, who had taken up residence leaning back on one of the chairs at the dining room table. “Great reveal.”

“Pepper didn’t speak to me for a week,” said Tony. “But I think it was worth it.”

“Should I be concerned?” asked Steve, frowning from where he stood with a take-out menu in his hands. He was still in his uniform, everyone was except Tony. They didn’t exactly make a habit of keeping their clothes here.

“Maybe,” said Natasha, smirking at him. 

“God, I’d pay to see that,” said Clint.

“Things are a bit different since you were young,” said Tony. Steve sighed, no doubt thinking something about the kids these days or whatnot. Clint had drunk just enough that he could laugh again, which was always a good headspace to be in.

All of them ordered from a different take-out place, much to the annoyance of Tony. But, well, he’d offered. Happy, his driver, wasn’t too happy about the longer route he had to take, but they all received their meals and found a place to sit down and eat. Natasha ate her pork dumplings pressed up beside Clint on the couch, her feet beneath her while Clint ate his Thai noodley thing.

“Separate beds tonight,” said Tony, seeing them and pointing at them with his half-eaten burger.

“Oh, please, if you didn’t have company, you’d be taking someone to bed,” Jarvis chimed in.

“Jarvis, I am wounded. Wounded!” said Tony, looking up at the ceiling. Clint laughed, wrapping his arm around Natasha and setting his empty container aside. For once, Natasha allowed the gesture. They were among trusted colleagues, after all, none of them would use her ‘weakness’ against her.

Despite their jests, Clint and Natasha did sleep in separate beds when they finally decided to sleep. Clint’s bed seemed so empty, no matter how much he piled up pillows and blankets. He didn’t want to sleep, but he did. And he dreamed of Coulson, and blue, and Loki’s laughing eyes as he’d been taken over so easily. Sleep was a mistake.

In the dark of one of the many sitting rooms in Stark Tower, Clint heard Natasha’s approach again. She could be silent when she wanted to be, so Clint knew that she was only making so much noise with her footsteps for his benefit.

“Penny for your thoughts?” said Natasha, sitting beside him on the couch. Clint continued to stare at where the windows were, when they weren’t covered by shades to keep the light out.

“I know you keep saying that it wasn’t my fault,” said Clint, his voice rough. “But I just- Tasha, I did so many bad things. So much shit that I don’t know if I can forgive myself for it.”

“But it wasn’t you,” said Natasha, trying to turn his head to face her. He resisted the movement but held her hand there on his chin. He caressed the back of her hand.

“But it was,” said Clint. “He might’ve been controlling me but it was me. You couldn’t trust me for the first time since we met, and I hate that. I hurt you.”

“You’ve hurt me before,” said Natasha. “I don’t hold it against you. Look at me.” At last, he did. She didn’t blink as she repeated those words: “I don’t hold it against you.”

“Sure, you might not, but others might,” said Clint, averting his eyes from her intense gaze. “I should’ve been faster.”

“You didn’t know that he could control your mind,” said Natasha. “What Loki did affected all of us.”

“You’re right, I’m just being selfish,” said Clint.

“No, you’re not,” said Natasha. “You’re dealing with what just happened. That’s only normal, in this situation.”

“You seem fine,” said Clint.

“That’s because I’m not like everyone else here,” said Natasha. “You know that. I was built for this. Made for this.”

“No, you were made to be bad,” said Clint. “But you joined our team instead.”

“Exactly,” said Natasha. “Your actions don’t define you, Clint. Even if you might think so, you also saved thousands of lives today. Both alone and working as part of the team.” Any protests died on Clint’s lips. She was right- he _had_ saved lives. Maybe that would make up for what he’d done under Loki’s control.

“And you?” asked Clint. “How are you feeling after he brought up your past?”

“The past is the past,” said Natasha. “I can’t change that. But I can change what happens now. You can choose to dwell on what happened, on what you couldn’t have changed, or you can move on and make up for what you’ve done. You can spend the rest of your life doing that, if it makes you feel better.”

“And what if it doesn’t work?” asked Clint. Natasha took both of his hands in hers, looking at him steadily.

“Then you keep trying,” said Natasha. “And you hope that someday, you can learn to forgive yourself. And for the record, I forgive you.” She looked so sincere that Clint couldn’t help but hug her.

It would be a long, long road back to being okay. For all of them. But none of them were alone in this. Through the nightmares, through the flashbacks, through the ongoing trauma and media storm, they were a team that could rely on each other. So long as they were all willing to fight for what was right.


End file.
